


when tomorrow's too much

by tmrs



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6189664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmrs/pseuds/tmrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He's a sausage wallet!” someone screams from somewhere, triggering a contagious outbreak of laughs for the next minute. Moritz is literally on the ground, Ilkay has tears in his eyes, and Mats keeps applauding in recognition that that was the best one.</p><p>A hand squeezes my shoulder and I turn around to see Pierre still massaging his stomach, probably from all the laughing.</p><p>“He's in the recovery room...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	when tomorrow's too much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khalehla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/gifts).



> This my friends, is yesterday's side effect :)
> 
> Huge special thank you to Khalehla for being not only my beta, a full-time supporter/motivator, but also for the inspiring talks where we share theories about this two :'D

“Guys, the prodigal son is back!” Neven screams to the others, before closing the locker room door behind me

They answer with more cheering than I was expecting to get; it makes my chest ache a little. “Temporarily... Sorry, don't get too excited.”

Mats passes his arms inside a clean t-shirt before slapping my cap tab making it jump from my head. “Why did that asshole not play you?”

“Uhm, he's no-”

“We get it...” Nuri wraps an arm around my shoulder with a wink. “You can't call him bad names, but we can. He's a bastard, right Marcel?”

“Bastard? He's a proper motherfucker, that's what he is”

“What else? Lukasz, your turn!”

“Dickhead,” he yells from the back.

“I will stay with shitface,” Sven adds with a nod, and elbows Erik by his side. “You go.”

“Fucktard suits him well. Moritz?”

“I have a good one: thundercunt.”

“Oh my... What about asshat?”

“He's a sausage wallet!” someone screams from somewhere, triggering a contagious outbreak of laughs for the next minute. Moritz is literally on the ground, Ilkay has tears in his eyes, and Mats keeps applauding in recognition that that was the best one. 

A hand squeezes my shoulder and I turn around to see Pierre still massaging his stomach, probably from all the laughing.

“He's in the recovery room...”

Nothing had changed, everything here still familiar like the back of my hand, so I take my time reminiscing, enjoying the sensation of the walls beneath my fingertips. This stadium packed with memories gives me mixed feelings; leaves me torn between how much I miss it and how much guilt I feel. Ten seconds before the anxiety can start swallowing me whole, the recovery room is there and my focus goes all to Marco. He is inside one of the ice buckets, whistling a pop song; I feel lighter already.

“Stop staring you pervert.”

“You're the one welcoming me almost naked.”

“Shup up,” he half smiles as the distance between us gets smaller. “I have a towel on.”

“Around the neck! Really useful.”

His giggles ring in my ear when we hug, so tight I can feel his bones against mine, so good I have to close my eyes so that's the only thing my mind has to work with and I don't lose any second of it. When we part, I don't feel half as tired or frustrated as I've been feeling for months.

“Tell me, how was it out there? Too many cameras? Did people throw things at you today?”

“It was less hectic” 

“Good,” he plays with the cords of my hoodie, tugging them. “It's working”

Then Marco sighs, exposing how very tired he was feeling, and that makes him look so discouraged all of sudden that I need to hold his hand, call him back from those troubles his mind had transported him to. 

“I was shitty at the match today.” 

“You could have been better...”

“Hey!” Marco yanks me closer and splashes some water on my face. “At least I played.”

“The only reason why you are not at your best is because you've been worrying too much and not enjoying it enough. Have fun playing and the goals will come back naturally, trust me.”

Marco smile returns after holding my stare for a moment. “I'm sorry for being selfish, I should be the one motivating you and not the other way around.”

“Believe me, you're motivating me quite a lot already.” Checking him out never makes me tired and I don't even bother being ashamed for doing it when he is half naked like this. “Let me grab my phone and save material for later.”

An old-known physiotherapist I had already chatted with earlier in the hallway comes to check on Marco and ask him default questions about how he's feeling. Between answers, he gestures for me not to leave yet, so I make myself busy with the phone.

“Do you think Volker will have a stroke if there's a picture of us on Instagram tomorrow?”

“Nah, we've been behaving for a long time now. And Scarlett is here today so it should be enough for people talk about other than being friends with the enemy. Peter, can you please take a picture for us? Wait! Let me do a sexy pose.”

I hand my phone to him and stand next to Marco until the click sounds. All the five clicks he gives just to make sure he was doing it right; what a real character Peter is.

“Thank you.” The phone is handed to me, and we shake hands. “Nice to see you again.”

“Please, I'm just an old man. It's always my pleasure to see my personal favorite golden boy.”

He tenderly claps the hand on my arm a couple of times and it reminds me that even having made mistakes, I must have done things right to deserve some people’s fondness. 

“Oh stop all this over-flattering or I'll need a Kleenex box and a bucket of ice-cream.” Marco throws some ice on us, making Peter run out of the room for shelter, pointing a finger as a warning that he would get revenge for that. 

I check to see how the pictures turned out once we're alone again, and I can't help but laugh. “We look like idiots”

“Hey, speak for yourself! I look quite bossy. But yes, Volker will be fine. He should have been expecting a lot worse like, for example, you sneaking out tonight to pay me a visit at the new house...” 

“Pep wants everyone who didn't play today at training at 9 am tomorrow so the visit will have to be postponed again.”

“What? Tomorrow 9 am? Fuck, he is such a...”

“Sausage wallet. It’s the best offensive thing I've heard today.”

“That sounds like something that…”

“Kevin would say? Yeah”

It feels weird not having Kevin around and it makes me wonder how weird it was when I left. Makes me think if it would be weird at all for someone back in Munich not having my name on Bayern locker room one day. What's a red dot lost in the middle of a yellow pack? It's me. I'm a joke. The idea of spending the night curled inside Marco's arms sounds too impossible to resist more than before. He wakes me up from my reverie when he gets out of the bucket, taking the towel off the neck to wrap it around his waist, laying an arm around my shoulders.

“It's okay.”

“Seems like the world is plotting against us.”

Marco nuzzles the hair above my ear and presses a kiss to my temple. “Let them try Sunny, let them try.”

**Author's Note:**

> So! I might reuse this work on the main fic I'm writing but until that, here it is. Thank you all for reading <3


End file.
